Two Little Blackbirds
by The Quoi
Summary: A collection of "insightful" conversations and harebrained escapades between Bart and Kitty. Post Ptolemy's Gate. R
1. Sundaes

_A/N: For some reason every time I read the books I always end up thinking about the crazy escapades and conversations that would likely take place between Kitty and Bart after the whole Nouda incident. These little pieces will be posted here. May take the form of a story and plot later on, maybe not. Reveiw, s'il vous plait. _

"Eugh", Kitty said, making a face, "Don't even start. This is reminding me far too much of _Swans of Araby..._".

Across the table, a sand-skinned man with dark hair added extra sprinkles to the sundae sitting between them and laughed. "I've never seen it, but I'm going to assume that it's about some handsome, broad-chested spirit falling in love with some overly beautiful waif of a woman with much singing and dewy-eyed embraces?" his eyes glinted merrily as he pushed the ice cream confection across the table.

Kitty made a wretching noise in her ice cream dish. "Yuck, you have _no_ idea. Every single song was about"- here her voice became high pitched and mocking-"_Not being able to live together_ and _how their love would never fade, no matter the boundary between their worlds..._ It was enough to make an old dog piss on her pups" she finished decidedly, shoving a spoonful of chocolate and vanilla in her mouth.

The sand-skinned man raised an eyebrow. "Well... You and I are friends, are we not? No matter, and I quote, _'the boundary between our worlds'_".

"Yeah", Kitty rebuked, "But you and I are just _friends,_ you know? It's not like we're sharing moonlight embraces and sappy chorus lines together. I just call you up whenever I fancy chatting with an actually _intelligent_ creature and you're free to come or not."

"I suppooooose so", the djinni drawled, "But if you really think about, we're no better than that besotted couple in _Swans of Araby_". Kitty made a protesting noise, but he hushed her down. "But really. What normal, everyday human calls up a fourth-level djinni just to chit-chat and eat ice cream? I don't know about you, but I haven't met very many."

Kitty shook her head, as if gazing at a lost cause. "You're hopeless", she managed through a big mouthful of sundae, "Honestly...".

Bartimaeus took the bait. His brown hands swept down onto her left hand resting on the table and proceeded to blink his eyes rapidly and smile winningly at her with shiny white teeth. "Oh, Kathleen... You are the star to my galaxy, the cradle that holds my body, the gooey white substance that"-

"OOOKAAAY", Kitty interrupted, nearly choking on a her crushed peanuts, "That is definitely enough."

"What?" Bartimaeus complained, "I was just going to say the gooey white substance that makes up my essence... Good lord, girl. Get your mind out of the gutter. For a virgin, you're some dirty..."

Kitty glared at him over her treat. "You reckon?" she challenged him hotly.

"Reckon what?" he asked innocently, lightly gripping a spoon and diving daintily for her ice cream.

"Reckon that I'm... That I've never..." she trailed off and squinted at him, her cheeks glowing red. She peeped down at the table and noticed that his spoon was on a collision course with her sundae. She batted him away with her hand, and spoke in a rush "Hey! Why you stealin' my sundae? Djinni can't eat human food, what's up with that?" she shovelled the rest into her mouth and avoided his face.

When she finally gathered the courage to look him in the face once more, he was grinning at her.  
"Aww", he cooed like a mother to her babe, "Little Kitty's never done the nasty..."

She slapped a hand to her forehead and groaned is exasperation. "You're never, ever going to let this go, are you?" she asked him tiredly.

"Nope!" he piped cheerfully.


	2. Sacrifices

_A/N: Poor Kitty's gettin' old._

Curled up on the tiny bed, she slept as sound as a babe in its mother's arms.

The window five feet away had been left open a small crack, and from the city a cool breeze slowly meandered in. Fog swirled and grew like blurry fire around the orange street lamps. It was very early in the morning; that silent time when everything suddenly quiets as if holding its breath in anticipation for the dawn. Despite the city's quiet excitement, the winter sun was cold and tired and would not rise for two more hours. Everything was covered in a chilly coating of water from the previous night's rain. A very modest _drip,drip,drip_ could be heard as little droplets floated innocently down from the edge of the open windowpane.

The only light that filtered into the modest, wooden-floored room was the dim glow from the streetlamp just outside. It did not do much to penetrate the black darkness that had taken over the normally bright, white room. Five hours previous, the dark haired woman sleeping soundly had been perched at that window, watching the steady rain fall with a sort of melancholy expression gracing her minutely lined face. A figure had watched her from his seat at the edge of her bed, but as was custom when she fell into a sad mood, the figure said nothing. She had finally pried her eyes away from the mechanical dripping of the rain and with a poor attempt at a smile, informed the figure that she was heading to bed. Now, in her slumber, that expression was gone. Instead it was replaced with one of pure, true peace.

In the thousands of years that I have been partially present on this earth, there is one thing that has never changed. When you humans sleep, all of your worries seem to disappear. Every line of anger, every sense of greyness and exhaustion, every problem and every emotional turmoil seems to just... Go on leave as soon as you close your eyes to visit your dreams. It was times like this that I enjoyed looking at humans. You are the symbol to my slavery, but you are not thinking about those things while you chase the clouds in slumber. You are reverted to that wide-eyed child that stared in wonder at everything that they saw. You are brought back to that level of extreme innocence and unbiased judgement that young children are so wonderfully blessed with.

It is a very holy thing, in my opinion, to watch a human sleep. You are vulnerable and unawares of everything. I simply cannot hold anger against one who sleeps, because they simply are no longer the one that angered me. In the morning when they wipe the sleep from their eyes with a clumsy fist, my anger then returns. But in the lull of the night, it is not so.

I looked deeper into Kitty's face. Her lips were parted slightly, her eyebrows high on her forehead in a very calm, carefree expression. Her cheeks were flushed from the fleece blankets tangled about her legs and her hair sprawled attractively all over her head. She was clad in a simple white sleeping gown whose cream picked out the paleness of her skin. With my eyes, I traced over each and every wrinkle on the face that I knew so well and frowned.

With increasing frequency she was beginning to realize that she was getting older. It wasn't the wrinkles or the slight grey in her hair that bothered her; Kitty was never big on what she looked like. She knew her age when she watched students being let out from school, and knowing that she had really only been three years ahead of them. She knew her age when she watched a young couple kissing in the park. She knew her age when she met a mother and her newborn baby on the bus. The thing that aged poor Kitty the most was seeing all of these things, and knowing that she was no longer a part of their world.

I sighed. In her relatively short lifetime Kitty had been subject to injustice, been accountable for treason and crime, threw aside her commoner status and practised magic, followed a spirit (I.E. Me) to the Other Place and was part of a giant revolution. She had seen things that most folk could only daydream about on their way home on the train, yet she felt empty.

She had sacrificed everything it means to be human so that her world could be a better place. She had sacrificed her friends. She had sacrificed her family. She had sacrificed her chance at finding love. She had sacrificed her ability to have children, to have _her own_ family. In her passions, she had slowly cut everything away until she was left with an accomplished, renown shell of a human being.

All that's left is me, and I can't give her anything other than my companionship.


	3. Hard Cover or Paperback?

_A/N: Kitty likes to sleep. Barty likes to make her not sleep. Pain ensues._

"Bartimaeus. It's three in the morning."

"Yeah? Well... I'm a morning person, what can I say?"

"Bartimaeus..."

"All that... Darkness and cool air. It's really good for you, y'know."

"Bartimaeus..."

"We could go to a random park in the middle of the city..."

"_Bartimaeus..."_

"Go skinny dipping"-

"Bartimaeus!"

"What, what?", he said defensively, "I just think that three in the morning is a perfect time to get your physical activity done for the day.."

Kitty rubbed her forehead in exhaustion. "Do you _ever_ shut up?"

"No, no... I don't think I do", he said, creasing his forehead solemnly.

A ghost of a smile traced her lips. "Right. And you know what? I'm grateful for it. I'm grateful that you don't ever shut up, ever. Your constant chattering and rude remarks are what my ears _crave_ for when you go away. They just ache when they are denied the absolute privilege of listening to your whiny drone for hours on end."

Bartimaeus pouted, with his hands on his hips. "Touché...", he said flatly.

Kitty's smile erupted into a brilliant grin at this. "Does this mean you're going to shut up so I can sleep and not be a total crankpot terror in the morning?" she asked him in a faux-bright voice.

"Well, not likely. The weather man says there's a thirty percent chance of annoying retort and a seventy percent chance of 'total crankpot terror' come the hour of seven o' clock..." he peered at her as though he needed glasses to see her, "...So I'd say pack an umbrella."

Instead of replying, she threw a pillow at his face with all of her might. It collided with an alarmingly loud smacking noise that cushions are not normally known for, followed by the loud crack and tumble of an injured djinn falling to the ground.

"Barty dearest, _you _can rest down there tonight on the cold, hard, dusty floor", she grinned animalistically at his prone form, "and if you talk again I have a nice square book that would fit nicely up your loincloth."

With that, she flung herself down with force on the mattress, slammed the light out, and went back to sleep. The room plunged into darkness and she settled into her warm blankets. Her breathing evened and she sighed in exhaustion.

"...So, is it a hardcover book or a paperback?"


	4. Carved in Stone, Part One

_A/N: This one's a bit long. Actually, it isn't even finished. It's going to continue in the next chapter. : D_

I leaned back in my seat, yawned and stretched out my legs.

I could have taken her anywhere in nearly a heartbeat. I could have grown wings, scooped her up and flown off wherever she desired. I could have brought her to the sky-touching Himalayas, to the sands of the Sahara, to the warm green seas of the Mediterranean, all in the moment the words escaped her lips. (Alright, so maybe not the _moment_ it escaped her lips. A few minutes though. Ten minutes, tops.)

But Kitty, being of a rather practical disposition, insisted on taking the _bus._ Now, she not only insisted on taking the bus, she insisted on taking the bus to the library which was located about ten kilometres across town. I ask you. When you have an otherworldly creature that can carve palaces out of the earth and move mountains with a single breath at your beck and call, you probably wouldn't think to take the bus to the library anymore. (When I say 'beck and call', I mean it in a purely polite sense. I was technically at the beck and call to your average magician when they summoned me, but that's more of a control thing. When I say that I'm at _Kitty's_ beck and call, I mean to say that I'm willing to do anything she asks of me.) Kitty, however, did think of taking the bus and refused to take the shorter route.

Now don't you think I didn't offer her a ride. When she padded into the living room of her tiny apartment dressed in her only dress (White, it is. With little straps over the shoulders. Goes down to just above her knees. A sun dress) I knew immediately that she was planning on going somewhere. She had her leather bag with her, worn and battered from years of use, slung sloppily over her shoulder. Her grey streaked hair fell like a wet mop on her skull. On her feet she wore big black trainers. I grimaced.

"Hey, Kitty..." I had said tentatively, "I know you're just realizing that you're a girl and all, but don't you think that trainers might not be the best choice to go with that pretty little dress?"

She scowled at me, an expression that by then I had become very, very accustomed to.

"What's wrong with it? I'm wearing a dress at least", she argued. The week before we had gotten into a discussion about her sort of dress. She argued that the clothes she wore were comfortable and suited her personality. I told her that they looked like she was wearing discoloured sausage skins, and that it reflected her personality perfectly. Harsh words were exchanged. Body parts were kicked and punched, bruises were formed, prides were injured. It was a very intense discussion. It had concluded with duct tape placed firmly across my face and Kitty sourly holding up the white sun dress she had just purchased. (I'd like to think that I rather won the argument, though.)

"Why can't you just wear those nice sandals I got you?" I asked her politely.

"You mean the ones you stole?" she replied, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed into a hard line. Her eyebrow lifted disapprovingly.

"Well, it's not like I have any money... I just saw them on the rack and I thought 'Now, wouldn't they look so nice with that sun dress that Kitty bought', and I procured them for you. Now you won't even wear them, after I went through all the trouble..." I pouted, "You wound me, Kathleen, you wound me."

A smile worked its way onto her scowling face, like a worm through tough ground. "Yeah, Barty. They're pretty nice, but they're not my thing..." I pouted deeper, looking to all the world like a hurt puppy. "C'mon..." I pleaded, batting my now overly long eyelashes, "Wear them just this once, for me..."

The grin burst full out onto her face. "Sure, I'll wear them just this once. Considering I'm just going to the library."

I shook my head, my pouting expression replaced with a bemused one. "Oh, Kitty. What am I going to do with you?" I asked the ceiling.

"Go with me to the library?" she asked sweetly, throwing off her black trainers and going over to her small closet to extract the aforementioned pair of sandals.

"Oh, I'll come with you. But we should take the fast route. The Bartimaeus Express route", I said grinning.

"Nah", Kitty said impudently, and that was the end of that argument.

-

So here we were, sitting on seats that felt like concrete blocks on a dirty public transit bus. I peered over at Kitty, who had her knees resting on the seat in front of her, staring savagely into a book held open on her lap. She bit her thumb in agitation. It must have been a riveting read. I resisted the urge to brush her unkempt hair. It was really getting out of hand, but I didn't have the heart to tell her that. She looked like a deranged bride at the moment. My eyes swivelled from my travelling companion to the outside world.

London had done some changing in the past three years. The Commoner's Parliament had been re-established, and magic had been pretty much banned on the count that it was enslaving others. I had been particularly proud of Kitty when I found out what she had done to England. She had made absolutely sure that every man and his dog knew what had really gone on in the dark offices of the government under the magician's rule. Now, in England at least, the people knew what they were seeing when they saw the (before then) unseen terrors. They were seeing the work of slavery. I shook my head. Commoner's are very passionate when it comes to certain subjects.

I had to laugh when I came to the realization that Kitty herself was still into the habit of breaking the law. She had broken it when she went into the park to play cricket. She had broken it when she committed theft and robbery. She broke it when she summoned me for the first time. And now, even in the reformed country that she had helped to build, she was still breaking the law by summoning me five times a week. (I seem to make a lot of lists when I talk about Kitty. She's led an interesting life, I suppose. One that validates lots of lists.)

Not that anyone would have minded. They knew what Kitty did, and it wouldn't surprise the people to know that she still spoke regularly with otherworldly kinds. Taking a deep breath, I leaned my head on the scuffed glass of the window and watched the humans going about their business in the busy city.

Eventually we came to the area where the Glass Palace had stood. They had replaced the area with a beautiful park, where children could play. I felt a little regret whenever we had to pass this place. It was where so many had perished, and where my last master had sacrificed himself to save the lives of the two beings he held dear: Kitty and myself. I shook my head slightly. Poor Nathaniel. I only wish that he had grown up as a Commoner instead of a magician. Who knows? Maybe he and Kitty could have met, grown up together, gotten to know each other, had a life together... They were glaringly the exact thing that the other person needed, the fillers to each other's gaps. I sighed quietly. They could have _worked._

But this was not to be so. They had grown up in a time of strife, two soldiers from two different factions. I had to say though, in the end, I was proud of the stuffy, arrogant kid. He had really redeemed himself and become a better person.

As the bus rounded the corner, I caught a glimpse of something being hauled on top of the raised dais in the middle of the park. I frowned. What were they doing? When the vehicle moved foreward, I saw it in clear view. The sight made my mouth fall open in shock.

There, on the dais, the people were raising a memorial. It was a beautifully carved statue, tall and made of the whitest of marble. On one side, Nathaniel stood in beautiful detail his mouth curved into a calm smile, the staff of Gladstone held casually in his hand. To his left, stood a wonderfully rendered carving of Kitty. Her throat lay open to where a replica of the Amulet of Samarkand hung. Her expression was confidant, assured. Then, to the left of Kitty and to the right of Nathaniel, was where my body stood.

I was in Ptolemy's form. I had a grin on my face and a glint in my carved eye. My hand was outstretched to where a carved wisp of fire extended from my palm. I gulped in utter surprise. I know I always boasted about my power and my deeds... But having a statue of myself? This was beyond anything that I could have ever imagined possible. My eyes never left the new memorial being raised, but my hands reached for Kitty and shook her violently. In an awed voice I said "Kitty... We need to get off the bus at the next stop..."

"What? Why?", she asked, alarmed.

Wordlessly, I pointed out of the window. 


	5. Carved in Stone, Part Two

_A/N: I find Barty's chapters much, much easier to write for some reason. It's hard to re-capture a good third person perspective when you've been writing in witty first person, I guess. I also understand that the burning question is: Will they ever get to the fabled library? The answer is no. _

Kitty followed the long, brown fingers pointing to the world outside of the window. Her eyes caught a beautiful statue glinting in the sunlight. She couldn't help herself. She gasped. Her arm extended and her hands clamped down on the thigh of Bartimaeus' form; the other slowly lifted and covered her mouth. "Bartimaeus...", she whispered softly in wonder, "is that... Are we...?"

He responded by tearing his gaze away from the window and gazing into her eyes. A half-laugh of bewilderment escaped his lips and his eyebrows raised. His eyes sparkled like pitch-black diamonds. His giddiness infected her, catching on inside of her like a merry, dancing fire. Soon, they were both laughing in disbelief.

He abruptly stood and grabbed her arm, dragging her laughing through the bus. Much to the dismay of the driver, they jumped out of the doors without warning. They ignored his angry cries and stumbled their way through the crowds that had gathered to watch the new memorial being set in place. When they caught sight of Kitty's face, they parted in reverence, as if she were a god gracing herself with her presence.

The pair of them finally reached the edge of the crowd. In the corner of her eye, Kitty saw Bartimaeus' form flicker and fade into the shape of a young, dark skinned boy. With a final thud, the memorial slid into place upon its raised dais. The workers noticed the pair approaching, and quietly, they stepped back into the crowd.

Kitty looked alongside at her companion, the grin on her face fading. He turned his head and solemnly, he took her minutely wrinkled hand. Together, spirit and human, they walked up the few steps and were raised onto the threshold of their memorial. Nathaniel stared back at them, oblivious to their sombre expressions. His own face, encased in white, smiled. Kitty moved towards him, her head bent almost fully backwards in an attempt to see him properly. She felt a whisper in the air beside her, a firm grip around her waist... And she was slowly floating up in the air towards him.

When she was level Nathaniel's face, her hands reached outward and she cupped his chin in her hands. The stone was cold, so cold. She felt hot tears brimming in her eyes. Stupid! She hadn't even known him, truly known him, for very long. But she couldn't help but feel that he hadn't really had the chance to live, to enjoy life and be happy. He had only enjoyed life for his last remaining hours, and then he sacrificed himself. Shaking her head, and feeling much older than she had ever felt in her life, she leaned foreward, closed her eyes, and kissed the boy's cold, stone cheek.

She paused here for a few seconds and then tore her lips away, turning her whole body around in Bartimaeus' grip and hiding her face. She would not cry, she would not. She would be strong in front of the people whom she had helped liberate, whom had been so thoughtful as to remember her, her otherworldly friend and her deceased...

The tears, against her wishes, came anyway. She suddenly felt the weight of it all come crashing down on her, and she had no choice. She let herself submit to the sobs that quietly wracked her frail old body, and she silently hid her face in the neck of another boy who had died long ago and been forgotten. Vaguely, she was aware of the ground as they landed; of the crowd all around her beginning to sing. The only thing that she knew was the tirade of emotions colliding and shattering inside of her and the strange smooth skin of Bartimaeus as he rocked her gently, back and forth. Back and forth.

For many minutes, that was all that existed. Then, finally, as though a switch was turned off, the emotions subsided and a new feeling spluttered and came to life. It was a strange feeling, but one that she had experienced a long, long time ago, when she was very young. Her crying stopped and her breathing slowed. She attempted to identify it, this little steady spark that was causing a tiny smile to break out on her tear-stained face. What was it? Then it hit her.

It was peace. 


End file.
